The Spider Assassin #51
Webbing caught the monitor bank. Jake yanked himself forward with velocity that turned his momentum into a weapon.
His feet drove into Bane's chest -- enhanced strength channeled through the impact point, force that would cave a normal human's sternum.
The impact sounded like a car crash.
Bane slid back three feet. Tubes hissed. Venom flooded. He was already moving forward again.
Jake fired at ceiling. Pulled up. The severed arm swung, spinning his trajectory. He came down behind Bane.
Swung the blackened limb at the tubes.
Bane's forearm blocked.
Crystallized flesh met enhanced bone.
Sound like stone on steel. Like a hammer on an anvil. The impact rang through the warehouse.
The arm cracked. Hairline fracture spreading through dead tissue.
Bane's other hand came around. Palm strike. Aimed at ribs already damaged.
Jake flipped back -- out of the way -- and fired at his feet. Webbing spread. Sticky. Dense.
Bane hit it without slowing.
Boots stuck. Legs kept driving. Each step tearing through webbing with brute force and Venom-enhanced strength.
One step. Two. Three.
Closing distance.
Jake's weight shifted right. Automatic. Pattern his body had learned. Preparing to lunge with web-assisted momentum.
"Predictable." Bane's hand shot out.
Caught his wrist mid-motion.
Too fast. Too precise. He'd been waiting for exactly that movement.
Pulled Jake forward with force that dislocated shoulders in normal humans.
Other hand found throat.
Closed.
Air stopped.
"Did losing your arm put out your flames?" Bane's voice was flat. Almost disappointed. "You have become reckless."
World narrowed to pressure points crushing windpipe. To fingers like steel cables wrapped around his neck. To the steady, patient grip of someone who'd done this before.
Many times before.
Jake's wrist fired. Webbing caught Bane's face. Sealed eyes and nose in white adhesive that hardened on contact.
The grip didn't loosen.
Bane adjusted by touch. Fingers finding optimal pressure. Tubes pulsed faster. Compensating for lost vision with increased Venom flow.
Jake's vision darkened at the edges.
His legs came up. Both feet into Bane's abdomen. Enhanced strength channeled through the strike.
Should have folded him.
Should have ruptured something vital.
Didn't.
Impact absorbed by muscle architecture designed to take punishment. To endure. To outlast.
Bane grunted.
That was all.
He tossed Jake aside like a ragdoll.
"I told you, Spider." Bane said, tearing webbing from his face. "Potential unfocused is merely wasted energy."
Jake stumbled back. Throat burning. Vision swimming. Lungs screaming for air they couldn't get. His right shoulder wept blood from the rebar wound. His ribs ground against each other with each breath.
Twenty-eighy people dead.
The number surfaced unbidden. Each one a choice he'd made. Each one time bought with violence.
And now this. Fighting Bane with one arm while Harley waited somewhere above.
His body was failing. Glands depleting. Healing factor struggling to keep pace with accumulating damage.
But stopping wasn't an option.
He moved -- firing webbing between them.
A geometric field pattern of overlapping strands that should tangle, trap, or slow.
Bane hit it without breaking stride.
Boots stuck. Legs kept driving. Webbing stretched. Fibers strained. Tore.
Step by step by step.
Jake fired at ceiling.
Standard repositioning. Body moving on trained instinct.
Bane jumped, hand outstretched. He caught the web at midpoint. Yanked before the Spider could release and fire another strand.
Physics inverted. Jake's body jerked forward instead of up. Leverage stolen. Momentum weaponized against him.
He released immediately.
Let the pull carry him. Used it. Fired new strand at Bane's mask as he flew forward.
Caught the tubes.
Yanked.
They tore free with a hiss of escaping pressure.
Green liquid sprayed. Kobra-Venom bleeding from severed connections. Pooling on concrete floor.
Bane's hand shot to his mask.
Sealed the breach.
Fast. Practiced. Like he'd done this a hundred times before.
But the damage was done.
The steady flow interrupted. He was operating on what remained in his bloodstream now. A diminishing resource that would metabolize over minutes.
Jake fired at the vials next.
Multiple webs. Different angles. Toppling Bane's Kobra-Venom supply. Most shattered on the floor. Others remained coated in layers of adhesive.
Bane tore through the webbing Jake threw at him.
Each strand required effort. Required force. But he had both. Had patience. Had understanding that this was attrition warfare.
Jake's hand twitched.
Fired.
Nothing came.
Glands empty. Depleted. Requiring time he didn't have to regenerate.
No webbing.
One arm.
Injured and exhausted.
Still standing.
Bane closed the distance.
Hands up. Not rushing. Just positioning with certainty that the fight's conclusion was approaching.
Jake grabbed the severed arm.
His only weapon left.
Bane's fist drove at his face.
Jake twisted.
Impact hit the arm instead of his skull. The crystallized flesh cracked further. Fragments spinning away. Spider-web fractures spreading through dead tissue.
But it held.
He swung back.
Into Bane's knee.
The joint buckled. Enhanced structure compromised by concentrated force on a single point.
Bane went down.
One knee planted. Balance broken.
Jake brought the arm down on the mask.
Cracked breathing apparatus. Split leather. Exposed face beneath.
Hard. Scarred. The face of someone who'd survived things that should have killed him.
But the expression--
No fear. No pain.
Just cold assessment.
"Adapting is your strongest suit," Bane said.
His hand found Jake's wrist. Gripped. Even kneeling. Even damaged. Still dangerous.
"But you lack discipline."
Jake's knee drove into Bane's throat.
Crude. Effective. Crushing windpipe with enhanced strength channeled through pure desperation.
Bane's grip faltered.
Released.
Hands went to neck. Fighting for air through compromised passages.
Jake raised the severed arm.
Positioned it over Bane's head. Ready to bring it down with force that would crack skull. Pulp brain. End this.
Make it twenty-nine.
"Say it," Jake said, voice raw from earlier strangulation. "The safe word. Say it and I stop."
Bane's hands lowered.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Away from his throat. Away from defense.
Just lowered to his sides.
His eyes locked on Jake's.
Unwavering. Unbroken.
"No."
The word scraped through damaged windpipe. Each syllable defiant.
"I kneel to no one."
His jaw set. Muscles tensed. Not preparing to defend. Not preparing to dodge.
Preparing to endure.
"Not to you. Not to fear. Not to death." Eyes burned with absolute refusal. "I was born in darkness. Shaped by it. Molded by it."
He straightened slightly. Even kneeling. Even beaten. Still refusing to bend.
"I will not beg for light now."
The severed arm trembled in Jake's grip.
Not from weakness. From rage at this infuriating refusal to acknowledge defeat.
Bane wasn't broken. Wasn't begging. Wasn't giving Jake the satisfaction of submission.
Just stared up with absolute certainty. With defiance that made Jake want to bring the arm down just to prove a point.
His peripheral vision caught movement.
Death. Still there. Still watching from across the room with that infinite patience. Her presence a constant reminder that he had killed twenty-eight people.
Twenty-nine would just be one more.
The crystalline arm rose higher.
His spider-sense rippled.
Not danger. Something else. A familiar frequency he'd felt twice before.
Orange and black signatures materializing at the room's edge. Professional. Deliberate.
Multiple contacts.
Jake's head turned fractionally.
Deathstroke emerged from the shadows near the eastern windows. Not alone. Four figures flanked him -- League of Assassins, their movements synchronized with training that spoke of years under the same brutal discipline.
"Stop."
The word carried mechanical precision. Not a request. A statement of fact.
Jake's arm remained raised. "You're interrupting."
"Execute Bane," Deathstroke said, moving closer with confidence that suggested he knew Jake's webbing was depleted, "and you lose your best chance at survival."
Jake's analytical mind processed through exhaustion and pain.
Deathstroke. Third encounter. The mercenary who'd watched Clayface die. Who'd confronted him on the rooftop. Who'd apparently trailing him through Gotham's chaos.
"What makes you think I want to survive?" Jake's voice was empty.
"I don't." Deathstroke's stance was casual. "I'm only here to show you the silver lining."
He pointed at Jake's missing arm. Gestured at his bleeding shoulder. His compromised stance.
"Hunted. Injured. Disabled. Permanently scarred and without allies." A pause. "Your situation is desperate. Whether you acknowledge it or not."
Jake's mouth pulled into something bitter. "Terrible way to start a recruitment pitch. I'm far from hopeless."
"You're in need of a friend." Deathstroke stated. "But the choice is yours."
He stepped closer. Moving with confidence that said he knew Jake wouldn't fire webbing at him. The assassins flanking him maintained position but didn't advance.
"Execute Bane, and you make a more dangerous enemy. More extreme than those you've faced."
His hand gestured at the injured man beneath Jake.
"Spare him, and you make a powerful ally. One already impressed by your merit."
Deathstroke's stance shifted, mask tilting lower. "The same goes for you, Bane."
Jake's eyes tracked between them.
Beneath him, Bane's expression shifted.
Not toward Deathstroke specifically. Toward recognition of what his presence meant.
"How pragmatic," Bane's voice was damaged but steady. "The League offering mercy instead of testing flames. That's not how I remember it."
"Things evolve," Deathstroke replied. "Priorities shift. Ra's al Ghul sees potential in both of you."
The interface pulsed in Jake's peripheral vision.
Not the subtle shimmer he'd been ignoring. Active insistence. The bonus rewards glowing with urgency that felt almost desperate.
Something had changed.
Jake's eyes focused on the interface while maintaining his position over Bane.
Three options. Standard. Expected.
Then--
A fourth.
🕷️
[Totem redeemed!]
Select two Bonus Rewards:
Bundle of Cash - a little something to keep you going during this time crunch. Totem Icon - for your navigation needs and a chance to collect your next totem faster. Mystery Reward KILL MILESTONE: 28/30 - on select, the system extends its hand. Time is limited by totem rarity. Valid only if milestone is completed.
🕸️
The latest choice burned in his vision, bold and hungry. The system wasn't even trying to hide it. It wanted him to kill. Promising him a reward if he did.
Jake's eyes found Death. She was watching him with the patient certainty that eventually all choices led to her.
Thanks for reading.
Only 7 chapters remain before the Spider Assassin comes to an EPIC close. But it's not where this story ends. Not even close. Catch up to the latest chapter: The Mechanical-Arm Spider #74, less than 10 chapters before that arc comes to an end and then it's The Undead Spider arc. I've got something really awesome planned at 100% and I'm dying to get there. I don't have the exact number, but my intuition tells me it's several arcs (of epic content) away. Not saying that I will (absolutely not) -- but don't let me burn out. Boost my morale and see where this goes by subscribing to my patreon. Your support means the world to me.
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